Pillow Book

The weekend started off well enough. I've been spending almost every weekend at the Rascals house for months now and this weekend he invited me to bring my cat along. Quite a big deal considering the Rascal hates cats. Surprisingly enough Kitty was on his best behavior. And so was the Rascal.

Saturday night was Elizabeth’s party. I still haven’t downloaded the pictures from my camera but somehow I managed to have a good time without pissing anyone off. I did touch Jen’s boobs- but she offered.

Sunday I helped the Rascal clean his bedroom. There was an inch of dust in some places and while I was vacuuming I found a mirror that has successfully escaped being hung for the 3 years the Rascal has lived in Alabama. This sparked the following conversation:

Rascal: I should hang that.
Me: Where’s it going to go?
Rascal: Probably that wall right there.
Me: Yea, I don’t really want a mirror on that wall.

As I heard the attitude laden words come out of my mouth they sounded like the roar of a wild tigress defending herself in battle. I didn’t say “I wish you wouldn’t hang it there” I didn’t say, “That’s going to creep me out” No, I went for the full on psycho approach I DON’T WANT A MIRROR ON THAT WALL. ROAR! The Rascal looked at me as if to say, that was uncalled for. I continued with “ah, I mean it’s your bedroom hang it where you want.” Instead of addressing the fact that I had just turned into psycho-girlfriend from hell, the Rascal went on to say “maybe this wall then…” opting to completely ignore my transgression.

The thing is, he wanted to hang the mirror directly across the room facing the bed. No perv factor involved- to a man that doesn’t care about decorating trends or Feng Shui energy patterns the empty wall he suggested was simply the most logical choice. And he had no way of knowing that it creeps me out to have a mirror face the bed. Every time I roll over I see myself moving in the mirror and wake myself completely to make sure that what I saw was just my own reflection. Then I can’t go back to sleep because I’m angry that I woke up for nothing. I say he had no way of knowing this because the subject has not previously been discussed between the two of us. So you see the attitude that I totally didn’t even anticipate having, was completely unjustified.

The Rascal’s reaction (or lack there of) can only mean one of three things: either the Rascal really does keep up with my pms calendar or he is content with the fact that at any given moment without warning or reason my psycho-girlfriend personality will show up and bite his head off or the third possibility …which left me to wonder for the rest of the day when he actually planned to kiss me goodbye for the last time.

But he hasn’t dumped me yet.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:50 PM | Permalink

I'm getting a little frustrated with Movabletype. I think the Rascal has fixed one of my problems. I couldn't figure out how to let people comment without having to publish them myself everytime. We'll see how that goes. What I really want to do is import my posts from my old blogger site and I keep hitting a dead end. Everything I read ends with "Don't do this... or you will really fuck things up." Has anyone reading this moved your blog from blogger to MT? Anybody? Bueller? Bueller?

BAH!

Posted by Irish Geisha at 10:25 PM | Permalink

Sometimes I think reading other blogs impairs my own and that can be irritating. Other times I find that reading what someone else has to say can save me from myself. Take today for instance. I had an entire post entitled “Relationship Immunity” written in my head before I even turned on my computer. It included what I consider to be the snarkiest metaphor I have come up with to date.

Then I turned on my pc. Gave a once-over to the Combloggerator. Commented at Ken is a Verb. And read this post. Which reminded me that you should be nice to the people you love because you just may need them to save your life one day.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 07:58 PM | Permalink

Well, Valentine's Day came and went with a near miss of a meltdown. I wasn't kidding when I said I didn't know what to get the Rascal. For Christmas someone suggested I get him lingerie. I said, "That's no good. I'm what men commonly refer to as a white cotton panty kind of a girl." My friend was quick to remind me " Um, Irish? Have you forgotten the time you got drunk at the bar and showed everyone your leopard print bra?" Just the same, I never have considered buying lingerie for myself as being a gift for someone else. So for Christmas I got him a computer gadget and a couple other non-lingerie gifts.

Valentine’s Day is a different story. It’s a holiday designed specifically for persons who do not normally tell each other how they feel about one another. It’s a day for love. It’s a Hallmark holiday waiting to explode in your face like a gun that may or may not be loaded and good luck to ya!

So two days ago I’m standing in the Victoria’s Secret dressing room thinking to myself-this is not a gift. This is definitely a non-gift item. This…this actually doesn’t look half bad; I wonder if it comes in black. How is this a gift? It’s for me. He can’t wear it. Although… No. Fuck it, he’s getting candy.
As it turns out, Valentine’s was perfect this year. The Rascal bought Angelbaby and I each a box of chocolate and a card. Then he let Angelbaby help decide on a restaurant and took us to see Curious George.

Now that just leaves 3 months till his birthday and then I will be safe from gift meltdown until next Christmas.

Posted by Irish Geisha at 09:39 PM | Permalink

This is quite possibly the funniest thing I have ever seen. It’s a fish. A Valentine fish. Because what man wouldn’t love a chocolate fish. Or woman for that matter. I damn near peed my pants when I saw this and I couldn’t wait for St.Valentine’s Day I had to go ahead and give it to the Rascal. Because he’s a keeper. Just like it says on the box.

A FISH! A VALENTINE FISH! And just like Larry the Cable guy says- "That’s funny. I don’t care who you are, that’s funny right there."

Even though I wasn’t dating anyone this time last year, if you read my blog, you may or may not have noticed the lack of “I hate Valentine’s Day” posts. That is because I am pretty indifferent about the holiday. Sure, I like chocolate at much as the next gal. But what the hell do you get a man for St.Valentine’s Day? A chocolate fish?

Posted by Irish Geisha at 08:42 PM | Permalink

When I first met the Rascal I referred to him as the Republican because that is all I knew about him. Then we started dating and I decided he should be the Rascal. The Rascal King by The Mighty Mighty Bosstones is high on my list of all-time favorite songs and it just so happened that the lyrical description somewhat resembled my boyfriend. Now that we have been dating almost a year I am amazed at how dead on I was with that connection even though I didn’t realize it at the time.

After I started dating the Rascal, my bar hoping days came to a screeching halt. He claimed he was trying to get away from that scene and I (having never truly been comfortable drinking at the bar) was o.k. with finding better things to do. Months later I learned that the Rascal does still like drinking at the bar. I learned this fact at or around 2 a.m. on a weeknight when the Racal, way past drunk, called me just to say hello. Now, I suppose some women would be angry. And I feel I had every right to quarrel with him over the matter. But I am the kind of girlfriend who takes advantage of a situation like this. So, instead of demanding an explanation for his behavior, I coaxed him into telling me how he feels about me. Because I know alcohol doesn’t lie. But inducing a drunken "I love you" is a how-to post for another day.

Last Friday night I expected a quiet evening at the Rascal’s home maybe watching something from Netflix or something he Tivo’d. The Rascal called just as I was leaving work to say he was going to stop off and get a beer while he waited for me to go home and change to come over. When I finally met up with him at Wings he decided he wasn’t as tired as he thought he would be and somehow we decided to go to the lesbian bar down in the Lakeview District. Unbeknownst to me there was a very good reason the Rascal avoided taking me to any bars until now. My first clue was when we were in the parking lot and he stopped me in order to go over the rules of the night.

I’m paraphrasing here:
Before we go in Irish, there are a few things you need to know, one is that no one can hurt you. If anyone bothers you at all just call my name and I will take care of it. Two- I will not go to jail. Three- if there is a fight I WILL win. Also, we are going to get kicked out of at least 3 bars tonight.
Then we walked into The Barking Kudu.

Before the Rascal took the first sip of his beer we were told not to come back to The Barking Kudu by a very angry bartender. I knew it was illegal in the state of Alabama to walk out of a bar with an alcoholic beverage in hand. And I knew the Rascal knew. But the doorman was missing and the Rascal said “trust me” so I did. And that my friends, is the first time I have ever been kicked out of a bar.

One down, within walking distance is the next stop: The Bombay Café. Two words: white tablecloth. We seat ourselves at the bar and almost immediately the Rascal begins heckling the bartender. After being hassled into reading the menu to the Rascal, Daniel, our bartender, offered to bring over a waiter to help the Rascal order. It quickly became evident that ordering something that wasn’t on the menu was not going to get us kicked out. But the food was great and Daniel was a real trooper. By this time we had made some friends at the bar but we still had 2 bars to get kicked out of so off we went through a hallway to The Bombay Café’s martini bar The Canteen.

Bar #3 looked like the kind of establishment one could easily get kicked out of, and we soon found out. Nothing illegal this time, I’m really not even sure why they made us leave. I remember a table full of ladies that were none too happy with the Rascal intruding on their “Ladies night out.” But there I was sitting at the bar and the man on the other side of the mahogany says he’s closing our ticket out and could I sign for it. “I’m not his wife,” I tell him “ I can’t sign that.” Than a man almost as large as the Rascal tries to push us out without actually touching the Rascal. “It’s time for you to leave,” he says. Two down.

One half block down is bar #4 The Oasis. There was a band and a crowd. This was going to be easy. I would say we were there less than 15 minutes. I didn’t actually see what happened, some tall men were in my way. Apparently some sort of push/shove action got started and the Rascal was promptly escorted out with me in tow. Minimum quota for being kicked out of bars met. However the night was young. Sooooo, we set off for club Chaos around the block.

I would have thought that the only two white people in a black dance club would have no problem getting kicked out. No such luck. BLAST THEIR RACIAL TOLERANCE! So when the Rascal was all danced out and I was weary of the Mexican dance-humping my leg we called it a night.

We never made it to the lesbian bar. Someone at Bombay pointed out that it had just been closed down the week prior. I had fun playing the game anyway. After all it was my first time to be kicked out of a bar. To be quite honest, it was really anti-climatic. I understand why the Rascal does it. When he was a bar owner himself, he tested other bars in this fashion to find out what works as far as crowd control. I guess old habits die hard. Whether or not I ever agree to this level of fun again remains to be seen.

“The last hoorah? Nah- I’d do it again!”

Posted by Irish Geisha at 11:09 PM | Permalink